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This is the Prologue to my first self published novel, Color Her Red. I would love to have feedback!


Submitted:Feb 20, 2013    Reads: 133    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


Color Her Red

Crystal L. Shaw

Prologue

Staring out the window behind my desk with my hands in my hair, I debate how I should handle this. It's almost nightfall and the New York skyline is just starting to come to life. I stretch my arms out in front of me, making my shoulders arch and my back crack, and let out a lengthy exhale; it's been a long day. I need to finish this deal, at least come to a resolution, before I can leave the office. I glare down at the email, narrowing my eyes. The bottom line is that they want too much for their company and I'm not going over my budget. It would make my life easier to have it privately owned, by me, but I settle on my decision. I won't buy them out, not at that price. I'd rather spend the money creating a competitor. It'll take some time, but financially it's the better move. Decision made, I have to call Bowe, tell him no deal, we're at our bottom line and we aren't budging.

I finally sit in the high back desk chair, somewhat satisfied with my decision, and glance down at the sterling silver picture frame on my desk. She looks stunning, comfortable and satisfied in my embrace; I happily accept the distraction. My body relaxes and my lips curl up as I think about that night, the surprise she had for me under that dress. For someone so sweet and innocent she can be quite brazen. I rest my head in my hand, elbow on the desk, tapping my temple with my index finger and stare at the picture, at her beautiful curves. Just looking at her makes my libido rev.

My smile fades as I remember I still haven't told her about yesterday. I stiffen. There's a fight I don't want to have. A distressed moan escapes through my gritting teeth. I breathe deep and move my eyes to the computer screen and then back to the photograph, strumming my fingers on the desk. She doesn't need to know and there is no point in me worrying her for no reason. I'll take care of it. She worries enough, as it is, always fretting. She hasn't changed since the first day I saw her. The recollection makes me smirk and I lean back in the chair keeping my eyes on her stunning smile.

I noticed Kate first, a tall blonde pouncing about, talking louder than needed; she didn't seem to have a care in the world. Like dominoes, she haphazardly bounced off Emma, my Emma. She tried to balance herself, but bumped into me, splashing a small bit of coffee into the air. I should be grateful for Kate's lack of grace, without her I wouldn't have seen Emma. I scowl thinking of what my life would have been like without her, without my Emma.

She was beautiful, still is, soft chestnut curls surrounding her pale skin, a petite frame that made her seem fragile and delicate. It was her eyes that entrapped me though, striking hazel. For a moment, I forgot why she'd stopped and why I'd been able to study her features. I don't believe I said anything, I just observed, waiting for her eyes to meet my gaze.

Watching her fuss over spilled coffee was amusing. She couldn't stop apologizing, I grin at the thought and roll my eyes. It wasn't her fault, but she unknowingly took all of the blame. I remember how soft her voice sounded, "I shouldn't be so clumsy. I'm so sorry." She made a desperate attempt to wipe the coffee off my shirt with the tiny square napkin in her hand, until she saw me watching. I could tell she was intimidated and possibly embarrassed. She stumbled back a bit, continuing to apologize. I tried to reassure her, but she only gave a soft apologetic smile, avoiding my gaze.

As she walked away, I began to feel irritated; now that I had to change my shirt I was going to be late for my meeting, but I couldn't get her out of my head. I turned behind me to see her walking, taking easy steps as her hips rocked just enough to see her provoking curves. Whoever it was I was going to meet with, they could wait. I turned abruptly and briskly walked until they were easily in my sight, keeping my eyes focused only on her. She made me want more, I wanted to see what she looked like when she was pleased, what it sounded like to hear her laugh. I stayed back a few steps, walking slowly behind them. Waiting for a moment to open, waiting to see her smile.

Her soft delicate hands gripped the twine handles of the shopping bag, moving her thumb over the rough material, in a rhythmic motion. The elusive length of her skirt cut just below her knees flowed as she walked; watching her hips sway was mesmerizing. I admired her small waist leading to that gorgeous backside, feeling a low carnal hum deep in my throat. I heard her gentle voice over the crowd, a small laugh. I'd like to hear that pleasing sound again. I could make her laugh; I could make all sorts of sounds escape those exquisite lips. They stop. Stopping for coffee? Probably because she spilled hers a moment ago, I grinned at the thought. As I approached, I felt my breathing quicken and my face heated. No time for nerves, game on. I should've asked her out for a cup of coffee, although that would be a bit too humorous.

Don't deny me, Miss Gorgeous & Apologetic.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The unrelenting annoyance in my office disturbs me from the pleasant remembrance. I answer the phone annoyed by the interruption. I snap, "What?"

"S-Sorry to disturb you Sir. Elizabeth from public relations is here to see you. She apologizes for coming unannounced. She says it's urgent." My secretary's voice is meager and her sentences are separated by quick intakes of air. I don't feel bad for her; I pay her well to deal with my bullshit and quite frankly she should be used to it by now.

"Send her in." I hang up the phone, still annoyed. God damn it. What the hell happened now?

The power suit of a bitch that is my public relations consultant sashays through my office doors, slamming them shut behind her. I gesture my hand for her to take a seat, glaring at her audacity. The blouse beneath her jacket is unbuttoned to such an extreme that I find it hard to take her seriously. Elizabeth has worked for me for years. Each year my agitation grows larger, as does her insolence. She is damn lucky that she's good at her job.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Her lips are pursed and her eyes are narrowed at me.

Deciding not to hide my irritation I reply in a low monotone, "That depends, what exactly can I tell you that will make you leave my office?"

Her gaze doesn't leave me as she hisses, "You can start with how many women you are currently fucking." My eyes widen at her response, first with shock and then rage, unforgiving rage.





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